Entry tags:
Dancing With The Stars RPS, "First Class," Len + Bruno friendship, PG
Title: "First Class"
Fandom: Dancing With The Stars RPS
Characters/Pairings: Len Goodman, Bruno Tonioli, friendship fic
Rating: PG, drinking and racy humor
Summary: Len and Bruno are stuck with each other... at least until the snow melts.
AN: Written for Yuletide 2009 for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beedekka. I'm a big fan of DwtS, but I'd never thought of writing fic for it until I got the assignment.
"A snowstorm in New York City? But that's so picturesque! Ice skaters at Rockefeller Center, icicles hanging from trees at Central Park, the Christmas rum cake they make at that nice little Roman bistro in the -- "
"Well, that's alright, I suppose, but it also means we're stranded. I hope the departure lounge is quite picturesque enough for you for the time being."
"We can't just sit here -- we already put our luggage on the plane! Our luggage is going to fly away without us, then! All those tuxedos..."
"Our luggage isn't going anywhere either, Bruno. Unless it grows a nice set of wings, in which case you could always ask it for a lift, I suppose."
Len sighed into his cardboard cup of coffee. It had been a long week in LA filming promos for Dancing With The Stars; this season featured a former contestant from some reality show that Bruno had taken to calling Project So You Think You Can Survive Big Brother, and apparently she'd been unfamiliar with the concept of reciting a scripted line, smiling, and shutting up. Len almost had to feel sorry for the poor girl -- she was paired with Maks, after all, and from the look on his face he wasn't particularly sympathetic to her difficulties -- but then the director had sighed and told everyone that they weren't going anywhere for a couple more days, and sympathy had more or less gone out the window.
Bruno stared at the information screen for about two seconds before standing up and pacing as if he'd been stuck there for five hours, not five minutes. "Len, this is a catastrophe! We're supposed to be at the BBC tomorrow morning to film that Christmas special!"
"Shockingly enough, the BBC doesn't control the weather."
According to the information screens, all flights out of New York in the next five hours had been grounded, including, of course, their connecting flight to London. "Well, I'll just get on the phone and --" Len trailed off, because Bruno was already on his phone, using his free hand to make emphatic gestures as he explained the situation, in English with a few Italian words thrown in, to some long-suffering listener who must have been Ken, his boyfriend. "We'll have to call the --" And then a tinny rendition of "Life is a Cabaret" started playing in Bruno's hip pocket and then Bruno was talking again, and this time it was all Italian, so it must have been his mother.
Len went ahead and called the network himself. It took some time to get through -- apparently they weren't the only ones stuck in transit -- but when he did, the production assistant he ended up talking to was terribly sorry about the situation, and assured him that they'd "figure something out."
The volume of Bruno's voice rose and fell as he paced back and forth in front of the little row of chairs. Len smiled to himself when Bruno's back was turned; it was funny how it wasn't really different listening to him speaking English or Italian. Either way, chances were you'd have no idea what he was actually saying, but a fair clue towards how he felt about it. Right now he sounded exasperated. He snapped the phone shut with a sigh and an exaggerated shrug.
"Of course now my entire family believes I am stranded in a snow storm. Literally! I tell them that I am in the airport and they ask 'then why did you say you were stranded in a snow storm?' Figurative language, it is a simple concept!"
"They think you, what, went for a hike in the park? I suppose if you could find a pair of snowshoes to match your bowtie, maybe. Or if you thought you heard the opening bars of "Habanera" playing from a clearing in the woods, I suppose that would be sufficient motivation."
"Ha ha, very funny. They ask me if I have blankets! Flashlights! Why would I ever be anywhere where I would need blankets and flashlights? It's ridiculous!"
"I suppose something must have been lost in translation. Honestly, Bruno, I'm not sure how anyone can tell what you're saying without all the flailing about."
"I resent that." Bruno dropped himself into the chair next to Len.
"Now, don't sulk. People seem to like all the -- the standing up and sitting down and waving your arms business. It's your trademark."
"I am not flailing!" he said, flailing. There really was no other word for it. Len sighed. There's no making people happy sometimes. But Bruno had been in a mood since they left LA, and something ought to be done about it.
"Alright. Your... expressive gesturing. It certainly seems popular with the dancers."
"They do seem to take to me, don't they?" There was a hint of a smile.
"I should think so! If half the stories I've heard are true... not to mention the on-stage incidents."
"Alright, Donny Osmond doesn't count! That was a comedy bit!"
"Fairly steamy for a comedy bit."
"What, I work blue, okay? The audience needs something to wake them up after you spend ten minutes on content and footwork! They want to see the passion!"
"Well if they were going to re-name the show Snogging With the Stars, I wish they'd have told me about it."
"But how do you explain Strictly Come Dancing, then, eh? Eh?" He put special emphasis on the word come.
Len actually winced at that. Bruno laughed, which at least meant that the cheer-up operation was getting somewhere. "Well, come on, then. Let's go get some drinks while we wait for them to dig us out."
"Len, my friend, you are an underappreciated genius."
They picked up their carry-ons and schlepped over to the little Tex-Mex-themed bar that adjoined the lounge. Len asked for a Hendricks and tonic while Bruno was still poring over the menu of flavored margaritas. His drink came with an overly elaborate little origami lime slice, but they'd been surprisingly generous with the gin.
"Well, this should make five hours pass more quickly."
"Hmm... Key Lime Fiesta Rita... or Pomegranate Passion Rita?"
"I thought everyone wanted the passion?"
"Passion it is, then! Oh bartender?" Bruno raised on flirtacious eyebrow. Len tried to blend in, chameleon-style, to the red vinyl bar stool.
The bartender clearly thought the whole thing was a riot. "Okey-dokey, one passion coming up. Extra juicy."
"And I'll need another gin and tonic, I'm afraid."
Bruno shot Len the "you're-no-fun" look that required no explanation at this point. Len rolled his eyes a little, but it wasn't so bad being the "no fun" one, as long as he didn't have to drink anything with artificial coloring in it. Or, as the Pomegranate Passion Rita turned out to have, a rim of what looked like crushed red and green rock candy.
"You're seriously going to drink that." Len looked on in astonishment.
"I am planning on enjoying it to the last drop."
"You're going to drink that, while sitting next to me."
"I think people know that we know each other by now. They see us together on television!"
"Regardless."
"Regardless, come on, you should try a sip! It's good! And I'm sure the production company is going to comp us these, to repay our pain and suffering."
"Oh? So five hours with me is such an ordeal, then? I suppose you'll just tell them I bored you into an early grave."
"Oh, Len!" Bruno just managed to put down his drink before throwing his arms out to the sides in a gesture of absolute impatience. "You can't be so sensitive!"
Over by the gate, the speaker crackled to life to offer a staticky update on the situation. Basically, the cheerful female voice said that it was still snowy, they hadn't managed to clear the runways with leafblowers and hairdryers, and everyone was still going to be there for a while. Len quizzed the bartender about why his drink needed "all this busy-busy lime nonsense." Bruno people-watched and commented on who looked "delicious" and "exciting," and who had terrible shoes. Outside, the snow froze over and reflected the lights from the tarmac, until it occured to Len that if you looked at it from the right angle, it would look like the whole world was one giant disco ball.
Fandom: Dancing With The Stars RPS
Characters/Pairings: Len Goodman, Bruno Tonioli, friendship fic
Rating: PG, drinking and racy humor
Summary: Len and Bruno are stuck with each other... at least until the snow melts.
AN: Written for Yuletide 2009 for
beedekka. I'm a big fan of DwtS, but I'd never thought of writing fic for it until I got the assignment."A snowstorm in New York City? But that's so picturesque! Ice skaters at Rockefeller Center, icicles hanging from trees at Central Park, the Christmas rum cake they make at that nice little Roman bistro in the -- "
"Well, that's alright, I suppose, but it also means we're stranded. I hope the departure lounge is quite picturesque enough for you for the time being."
"We can't just sit here -- we already put our luggage on the plane! Our luggage is going to fly away without us, then! All those tuxedos..."
"Our luggage isn't going anywhere either, Bruno. Unless it grows a nice set of wings, in which case you could always ask it for a lift, I suppose."
Len sighed into his cardboard cup of coffee. It had been a long week in LA filming promos for Dancing With The Stars; this season featured a former contestant from some reality show that Bruno had taken to calling Project So You Think You Can Survive Big Brother, and apparently she'd been unfamiliar with the concept of reciting a scripted line, smiling, and shutting up. Len almost had to feel sorry for the poor girl -- she was paired with Maks, after all, and from the look on his face he wasn't particularly sympathetic to her difficulties -- but then the director had sighed and told everyone that they weren't going anywhere for a couple more days, and sympathy had more or less gone out the window.
Bruno stared at the information screen for about two seconds before standing up and pacing as if he'd been stuck there for five hours, not five minutes. "Len, this is a catastrophe! We're supposed to be at the BBC tomorrow morning to film that Christmas special!"
"Shockingly enough, the BBC doesn't control the weather."
According to the information screens, all flights out of New York in the next five hours had been grounded, including, of course, their connecting flight to London. "Well, I'll just get on the phone and --" Len trailed off, because Bruno was already on his phone, using his free hand to make emphatic gestures as he explained the situation, in English with a few Italian words thrown in, to some long-suffering listener who must have been Ken, his boyfriend. "We'll have to call the --" And then a tinny rendition of "Life is a Cabaret" started playing in Bruno's hip pocket and then Bruno was talking again, and this time it was all Italian, so it must have been his mother.
Len went ahead and called the network himself. It took some time to get through -- apparently they weren't the only ones stuck in transit -- but when he did, the production assistant he ended up talking to was terribly sorry about the situation, and assured him that they'd "figure something out."
The volume of Bruno's voice rose and fell as he paced back and forth in front of the little row of chairs. Len smiled to himself when Bruno's back was turned; it was funny how it wasn't really different listening to him speaking English or Italian. Either way, chances were you'd have no idea what he was actually saying, but a fair clue towards how he felt about it. Right now he sounded exasperated. He snapped the phone shut with a sigh and an exaggerated shrug.
"Of course now my entire family believes I am stranded in a snow storm. Literally! I tell them that I am in the airport and they ask 'then why did you say you were stranded in a snow storm?' Figurative language, it is a simple concept!"
"They think you, what, went for a hike in the park? I suppose if you could find a pair of snowshoes to match your bowtie, maybe. Or if you thought you heard the opening bars of "Habanera" playing from a clearing in the woods, I suppose that would be sufficient motivation."
"Ha ha, very funny. They ask me if I have blankets! Flashlights! Why would I ever be anywhere where I would need blankets and flashlights? It's ridiculous!"
"I suppose something must have been lost in translation. Honestly, Bruno, I'm not sure how anyone can tell what you're saying without all the flailing about."
"I resent that." Bruno dropped himself into the chair next to Len.
"Now, don't sulk. People seem to like all the -- the standing up and sitting down and waving your arms business. It's your trademark."
"I am not flailing!" he said, flailing. There really was no other word for it. Len sighed. There's no making people happy sometimes. But Bruno had been in a mood since they left LA, and something ought to be done about it.
"Alright. Your... expressive gesturing. It certainly seems popular with the dancers."
"They do seem to take to me, don't they?" There was a hint of a smile.
"I should think so! If half the stories I've heard are true... not to mention the on-stage incidents."
"Alright, Donny Osmond doesn't count! That was a comedy bit!"
"Fairly steamy for a comedy bit."
"What, I work blue, okay? The audience needs something to wake them up after you spend ten minutes on content and footwork! They want to see the passion!"
"Well if they were going to re-name the show Snogging With the Stars, I wish they'd have told me about it."
"But how do you explain Strictly Come Dancing, then, eh? Eh?" He put special emphasis on the word come.
Len actually winced at that. Bruno laughed, which at least meant that the cheer-up operation was getting somewhere. "Well, come on, then. Let's go get some drinks while we wait for them to dig us out."
"Len, my friend, you are an underappreciated genius."
They picked up their carry-ons and schlepped over to the little Tex-Mex-themed bar that adjoined the lounge. Len asked for a Hendricks and tonic while Bruno was still poring over the menu of flavored margaritas. His drink came with an overly elaborate little origami lime slice, but they'd been surprisingly generous with the gin.
"Well, this should make five hours pass more quickly."
"Hmm... Key Lime Fiesta Rita... or Pomegranate Passion Rita?"
"I thought everyone wanted the passion?"
"Passion it is, then! Oh bartender?" Bruno raised on flirtacious eyebrow. Len tried to blend in, chameleon-style, to the red vinyl bar stool.
The bartender clearly thought the whole thing was a riot. "Okey-dokey, one passion coming up. Extra juicy."
"And I'll need another gin and tonic, I'm afraid."
Bruno shot Len the "you're-no-fun" look that required no explanation at this point. Len rolled his eyes a little, but it wasn't so bad being the "no fun" one, as long as he didn't have to drink anything with artificial coloring in it. Or, as the Pomegranate Passion Rita turned out to have, a rim of what looked like crushed red and green rock candy.
"You're seriously going to drink that." Len looked on in astonishment.
"I am planning on enjoying it to the last drop."
"You're going to drink that, while sitting next to me."
"I think people know that we know each other by now. They see us together on television!"
"Regardless."
"Regardless, come on, you should try a sip! It's good! And I'm sure the production company is going to comp us these, to repay our pain and suffering."
"Oh? So five hours with me is such an ordeal, then? I suppose you'll just tell them I bored you into an early grave."
"Oh, Len!" Bruno just managed to put down his drink before throwing his arms out to the sides in a gesture of absolute impatience. "You can't be so sensitive!"
Over by the gate, the speaker crackled to life to offer a staticky update on the situation. Basically, the cheerful female voice said that it was still snowy, they hadn't managed to clear the runways with leafblowers and hairdryers, and everyone was still going to be there for a while. Len quizzed the bartender about why his drink needed "all this busy-busy lime nonsense." Bruno people-watched and commented on who looked "delicious" and "exciting," and who had terrible shoes. Outside, the snow froze over and reflected the lights from the tarmac, until it occured to Len that if you looked at it from the right angle, it would look like the whole world was one giant disco ball.